


The Concept of Sharing

by Twilight Fang (Asthenos)



Series: When nobody knows you exist [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Romance, Shy Derek Hale, Sub Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8681224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asthenos/pseuds/Twilight%20Fang
Summary: Derek is very happy with the way Stiles looks after him and is enjoying their new life of domestic bliss together.  But when Stiles gives Derek an unwanted present, things get a bit possessive.This is a stand-alone fic and can be read out of order, so long as you know that Derek and Stiles are in an established relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to get this idea out of my head. It was floating around in there as soon as I started Carnival Nora Ookami. I was going to finish that one first... but I have difficulty controlling what I have the urge to write.
> 
> I don't know how many parts this is going to be, but I'll continue it if people are interested in reading it. *^^*

 

_Dear sweet and fluffy Derek,_

_I left something for you on your pillow._

_Make sure you don’t accidentally sit on it._

_Love, Stiles._

Sweet and fluffy? Stiles had called him sweet and fluffy! Derek’s day up until that moment had been a complete waste of time, not to mention horribly unpleasant. He had spent over an hour in rush hour traffic in the morning, nearly clawing up the upholstery in his sporty black Camaro because he had decided to start the day with a nice hot cup of tea – black. No sugar. No milk. But it hadn’t mattered what he’d put into his morning beverage because the results would have been the same – the overwhelming urge to use the washroom. It hadn’t helped that he had read some scientific article on the internet a few days ago about how holding one’s bladder could cause it to explode, or something traumatic like that. Well, he hadn’t wanted his bladder to _explode_ , so he’d pulled into a strip mall at the first opportunity and made a mad dash for the men’s restroom. And in his haste to avoid a natural disaster, he had forgotten to lock his fucking doors.

 

After he’d finished saving himself from permanent bladder damage, and washing his hands – with soap – to deter the transmission of germs and unwanted microbes, he had hurried back to his car in high spirits. Who couldn’t relate to the feeling of exhilaration and relief that came from finding a toilet at the last possible second in an emergency? Only, that relief had been short-lived when he’d spotted his car with the driver’s side door flung wide open and the driver’s seat reclined all the way to the back.

 

Derek had stormed over to his car, ready to call 9-1-1 to report his new CD player as having been stolen, but had been petrified to find a child lounging in his seat instead. What the hell would a normal person do in a situation like that? Who the hell taught their kids that it was okay to go opening random doors in the parking lot anyhow?

 

“ _And you are…?”_ Derek had asked the little girl in as firm a tone as possible. She had to have been around eight… or maybe ten… or…   How the hell was he supposed to know how old she’d been?! Derek just didn’t deal with children very well. She could have been a malicious kidnapper of wolves in disguise for all he knew.

 

“ _I’m Batman,”_ the little girl had announced in a dramatic stage tone, as if she’d been practicing that line for days.

 

“ _Listen, kid. First of all, Batman is a man. That’s why he says he’s Batman, and not Batgirl. There is a Batgirl, you know, just in case you wanted to try a gender-relevant role in the future. But I would prefer to leave the bat conversations to your parents. So could you please get out of my car?”_ That had probably been the most Derek had said in days. He was usually quiet, unless there was something that he really needed to get off his chest, but Stiles was so busy with work nowadays that Derek had been willing to use up all his saved-up energy for conversing on that little girl.

 

“ _Batman drives a car just like this one,”_ the little girl had eagerly informed Derek. “ _Can you take a picture of me so I can Facebook my friends?”_ Then she had passed Derek her cell phone, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do. Like jumping into a stranger’s car – hello child abduction! – was not the stupidest action any unattended child could take. And who the hell gave cell phones to their kids anyhow? Derek knew of over a dozen apps that could bankrupt a family with just a few clicks of _Buy now_.

 

“ _Look, kid,”_ Derek had grated out in annoyance.

 

“ _Batman,”_ the girl had corrected him.

 

“ _Whatever. Either you get out of my car or I’m going to call the cops to take you back to your parents. I’m sure that they’ll ground you for life for this stunt.”_ At that point, Derek hadn’t really cared what threat he used to get rid of her. He just knew that the longer she stayed in his car, the higher his chances of being charged with a crime that he had no intention of committing.

 

“ _My Mommy is a cop,”_ she’d replied smartly, waving the cell phone again in his direction.

 

Left with no choice but to do as the girl demanded or have her call her _Mommy_ to teach him how to respect _Batman_ , Derek had snapped off a few pictures of her in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel, lounging on the hood of his car – with the bottom half of the screen cutting off the license plate because he so did not want to go to jail – and pretending to kick in his newly installed tailpipe. After she’d finally gotten bored and run off, Derek had spent the next half hour removing all evidence of her presence with a lint removal brush.

 

From there, Derek’s day had just gotten worse. He had been on his way to the bank when he had been stopped and harassed by the monstrous _Batman_ child, and that nearly one hour delay had put him in line with all the other customers who had been too lazy to get out of their beds earlier to avoid the queue.

 

After the bank, Derek had gone to an appointment he had had with the hairdresser… and had nearly taken the man’s head off when those lethally sharp grooming scissors had nicked his ear. And damn it, the fool hadn’t even apologized! How could he have even noticed when he was too busy checking out the hot female customer being served by the nail technician?

 

When he’d reached the supermarket after his trimming, he had discovered that all the fresh loaves of bread were sold out. And the cookies that Stiles loved so much had been discontinued. And then Derek’s credit card had evilly stopped working up at the cash register…

 

But now he was home and Stiles had bought him a present! A present that he was not to sit on. _Chocolate?_ But it wasn’t Valentine’s Day. _Movie tickets?_ No, Stiles was well aware that Derek had no interest in TV or the movies, so he wouldn’t have wasted his money.

 

Dropping his house keys into the ceramic bowl by the front door, Derek rubbed his hands together and hurried through his small shared apartment with Stiles, reaching the bedroom door in a few steps. _What could it be?_ Opening the door, Derek flicked on the light and peered over in the direction of the bed. He couldn’t see anything and the bed was neatly made. Perhaps Stiles had meant for him to look _under_ the pillow instead of _on_ the pillow. His brave and handsome deputy must have been in a hurry when he’d written the note and gotten confused. Derek padded across the wall-to-wall carpeting in his socks, grabbed hold of an edge of the comforter, and pulled. Still nothing. He picked up the pillow, flipped it carelessly onto the floor, and shoved his hand in between the mattress and the bed frame. Was it April Fool’s Day already? There was nothing to be found anywhere on the bed, in the bed, or under the bed.

 

“Today can’t possibly suck anymore than it already does,” Derek grumbled. Climbing onto the big springy bed, he replaced his pillow so that he could lie on it, pulled up the hideous Star Wars printed comforter, and closed his eyes. Nothing could cure a bad day better than a good wolf-nap on a Sealy Posturepedic mattress that was covered in Stiles’ scent.

 

Derek had only been asleep for maybe a couple of minutes when he felt something tugging at the bottom of his black jeans. More like something was catching along the cuff of his right leg and attempting to drag it down. _Stiles?_ Derek opened his eyes and surveyed the tight confines of their rather childish looking bedroom. On a bunch of shelves near the window sat Stiles’ numerous action figures and spaceships, posed in deadly combat with each other. There were even multiple versions of a couple of figures that Stiles had bought and kept in their original packaging because they were rare. If paint defects really qualified as being rare and valuable, but Derek knew nothing on the subject. On the nightstand there was a picture of Stiles squishing Derek in a loving embrace on their first real date – the afternoon of their sled ride through the forest. And the walls were covered in posters of who the hell knows what kind of amateur musicians. But the spot beside him on the bed was empty. When he glanced down to the foot of the bed, he couldn’t see any sign of Stiles there either.

 

“Stiles?”

 

There it was again! That tugging catch on the fabric of his jeans and--. “ _Oww! Fuck!”_ Derek shot out of the blankets and stumbled onto the floor in his haste to escape the giant bed bug that had raked its claws over his ankle. “Stiles! Help! Stiles!!!” Derek dashed out of the bedroom and flew into the living room, not stopping until he had reached the front door. He almost got whacked on the nose by that front door when it opened suddenly to produce one happy looking Stiles in full uniform. “Stiles!”

 

Stiles caught Derek in his arms and squeezed him in an impenetrable hug. “So you like the present?” He asked as he pushed Derek back inside so that he could close and lock their apartment door. Not waiting for an answer, or thinking it strange that Derek wouldn’t let go of him, Stiles dropped his keys into the bowl with Derek’s, and shoved his wolf up against the wall. “You want to play deputy and lost, lonely wolf?” Stiles smirked knowingly at Derek, mistakenly thinking that tonight was one of their roleplaying nights. He still had his gun in its holster, too! The little perverted so-and-so.

 

“What present?” Derek asked hysterically. “I couldn’t find anything on the pillow. So I decided to take a nap… but there’s a cockroach or a snake… or a fucking _hyena_ under the blankets! And it scratched me.”

 

“A hyena?” Stiles asked in confusion. “Why would you use a hyena as an example?”

 

“Why not? What does it matter? Just take your gun and do your deputy thing in there, like a good boyfriend would.” Grabbing hold of Stiles’ arm, Derek propelled him in the direction of the bedroom and shoved him towards the bed. “Oh my God, it’s fucking _huge!”_ The comforter at the foot of the bed was bunched up around a very large roundish shape that was moving back and forth, and poking upwards every now and then.

 

“Oh…. That’s too funny.” Suddenly Stiles burst out into laughter, barely able to stand up straight as he took hold of the comforter and yanked it free of the mattress. “Here’s your alien-sized bug, Derek.”

 

Derek jumped back, bit back a scream and then just stared in disbelief. There, sitting on the corner of the mattress and making short work of their expensive Sealy Posturepedic mattress was a great big Russian Blue cat. “What is _that?”_ Derek blurted out, seeing a feline but still feeling the tendrils of an alien bug on his leg. The two different images just wouldn’t coalesce.

 

“This is Chalk. Say hello, Chalk,” Stiles said in a kiddy voice as he picked up the beast’s enormous front paws and lifted him halfway off of the bed.

 

 _Chalk? What?_ “What?”

 

Looking slightly disappointed at Derek’s reaction, Stiles released Chalk so that the grumpy looking feline could go back to mauling their mattress. “You said you were lonely so I got you something to play with when I’m working overtime.”

 

“Stiles, that’s a full grown cat.”

 

“I know.”

 

“No, really. It’s a few cats in one. Most people start off with a kitten… or at least ask permission before introducing a gigantic walking bundle of fleas into a relationship.”

 

“Okay, so maybe Chalk has a problem with obesity, but you really shouldn’t say that in front of him. He might be sensitive about it.”

 

Derek stared at Stiles blankly before he decided to ignore that weird statement and continue protesting. “Stiles, wolves and cats don’t get along. It’s in our nature to fight and--.” Chalk chose that exact moment to hiss in Derek’s face, before returning to an expression of boredom. “See!”

 

“I can’t take him back. That would be cruel.”

 

“Where did you get him from?”

 

“The animal shelter.”

 

“I know where that is. I’ll take him back.” Problem solved.

 

“Nooo! You can’t take him back,” Stiles whined, his pouting completely incongruous with his serious deputy’s uniform, badge, and registered firearm. “He was scheduled to be put down tomorrow. He spent two years in that crummy shelter without any love or soft bedding. You have to know how that feels, Derek,” he pleaded.

 

And of course Derek knew how that felt because he’d spent most of his life feeling unloved and living without anything nice. But was he now obligated to return the kindness Stiles had shown him by babysitting a cat that had an eating disorder? He didn’t want the cat – _mean looking green-eyed menace_ – to be euthanized. There was no way he was going to be held responsible for the ethical cruelty against animals. But he didn’t want to have to look after something as big as Chalk either. What the hell did a cat of that size eat? People? He also wasn’t fond of the idea of sharing anything that belonged to him. The bed was his. The sofa, everything in the kitchen, the wall-to-wall carpeting, the stuffed Bambi-wolf – which was safely on display on a shelf that Chalk could not reach, and Stiles were all _his._ He was _not_ going to share anything that was _his_ with that _thing._

 

“So, can we pretend he’s our furry wolf son, or something?”

 

Derek growled at Stiles in irritation. “I don’t want a dead cat on my conscience so he can stay. For now. But he’s not wolf material. And we’re not discussing children while we’re living in this sardine can of an apartment.”

 

“Great!” Stiles enthusiastically hugged Derek, rubbing their cheeks together like he thought that _he_ was the cat, and went to the closet to get changed. “Why don’t you be nice and pet Chalk? He’s really friendly.”

 

Still not taking to the idea of having a gluttonous cat move in with them, Derek tentatively reached for Chalk’s bluish head. He had pet dogs and foxes before, so a domesticated cat really ought not to be that different. But when Chalk took a swipe at Derek’s outstretched hand with his hooked claws, it started a hissing / growling battle that neither wild creature wanted to back down from.

 

“Stiles!” Derek growled, baring his fangs at Chalk and trying to scare him off of the mattress.

 

“You guys are going to get along so well together,” Stiles said cheerfully, leaving the bedroom in a pair of track pants and a t-shirt, oblivious to the war that was soon to take place.

 

 _What the hell reality are you living in tonight?_ Derek glared at Stiles from over his shoulder, barely managing to protect his face from the ball of fur that launched itself at him.


	2. Chapter 2

The first week of life with Chalk turned out to be the worst cohabitation experience of Derek’s life. Within a few hours of acquainting himself with the feline abomination, Derek had come to the practical conclusion that Chalk was to be his new enemy extraordinaire. Whenever Stiles was around, both Derek and Chalk behaved like civilized creatures by keeping to their own corners of the room and doing their best to ignore each other. But as soon as Stiles was out of sight… Derek and Chalk worked very hard to redefine the term _anything goes_.

 

On Monday morning, Chalk had gotten up early, pounced onto the kitchen countertop, and knocked over one of Derek’s treasured tea leaf tins from England. If they had been tea _bags_ instead of tea _leaves_ , Derek might have been tempted to dust them off and put them back on the shelf – as unsanitary as that may have felt for him. Because, _holy shit_ , tea did not grow on trees and the economy was going through a recession. He couldn’t afford to replace a whole tin of tea! Unfortunately, once on the ground, the tea leaves had merged with the dust and other unsavory particles on the linoleum floor, so Derek had been forced to vacuum up the whole accursed mountain of mild-scented, full-bodied earthy Prince of Wales tea leaves. So much for tea and scones in the afternoon!

 

On that very same afternoon, Derek had retaliated by knocking over Chalk’s food dish and _accidentally_ stomping on all the kitty kibbles and bits in an efficient and thorough manner. He’d left Chalk with nothing but granules for lunch, which had earned him a scornful look from the cat and a bunch of hissing.

 

On Tuesday, Derek had stuck his feet into a brand new pair of socks, and put his toes through multiple holes at the end of them. Of course he’d been pissed, but he’d been willing to let one pair of socks go. But six pairs of socks?! Chalk’s message had been crystal clear, even if the nasty critter wasn’t capable of human speech, and that message was, _Fuck you, Derek! I’m gonna make your life a living hell! Mwahahaha!_ Well, maybe Chalk wouldn’t have inserted the childish _mwahahaha_ , but Derek could see the sentiment in those shady lemony-green eyes.

 

For revenge, Derek had made use of his own claws – all over Chalk’s scratching post. He’d torn that red carpeted cylinder to shreds, making it seem like a pile of confetti strewn in front of an extra tall wooden toilet roll. And to make sure that Chalk knew who had done it, he had emptied the tea leaves that he’d vacuumed up into the cat’s litter box next.

 

On Wednesday, Chalk had snuck into the washroom while Derek was taking a shower and leapt up onto the shower curtains when he’d been in the middle of washing his hair. Derek had been so freaked out that he’d gotten shampoo into his eyes and shrieked like a girl, before whacking his knee on the faucet in his haste to get out and strangle the mangy beast.

 

A few hours after that, Derek had waited until Chalk was beginning to doze off on top of the sofa. He had crept up on the cat from behind the sofa, sprung high into the air and gone all werewolf on him. That had kept Chalk behind the washing machine for the rest of the day.

 

Thursday was Derek’s day off from messing with stocks and currency trading. It was also _Donut Day._ At least that’s what he liked to call it. Even though he gave himself the day off, he still woke up early to get down to Krispy Kreme to get a fresh box of donuts to share with Stiles when he got off work. After picking up the donuts, Derek had left them unattended for five minutes – not six, but five – so that he could put away some groceries in the fridge. When he’d gotten back to the living room table, he had found that fat blob of a cat gorging himself on the last of the donuts. Derek hadn’t known what to be more shocked by. The fact that a cat could eat so much, or that it could run so fast after having eaten so much.

 

Needless to say, Derek would not stoop to eating Chalk’s cat chow in order to get back at him. But he had had no problem with secretly giving the feline a buzz cut while he napped on top of the TV. It was actually quite funny watching Chalk batting at the fur on his head in confusion, trying to figure out where the empty strips had gone.

 

By Friday, Chalk had begun to go after sentimental ornaments, and Derek had bought a squirt gun… and Stiles had had enough.

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck?!” Stiles shouted in alarm when he entered his home to find a headless trooper by the front entrance, a C-3PO with half the paint raked off floating in the toilet, a good portion of the carpeting in the bedroom soaking wet, and neither hide nor hair of Derek or Chalk. “ _Derek! Chalk!”_ Seriously? Here he was getting up early every morning and going to work to make a living to provide for his sexy wolf and super-sized cat, and the only gratitude he got for it was vandalism. “Someone is in for some serious punishment when I--. _Eep!_ Princess Leia is in the litter box! Oh my God, emotional meltdown!” Should he call for backup? Have Derek given a psych evaluation and take the cat to jail? Or maybe the cat needed the psych evaluation and Derek would benefit from twenty-four hours under lock-up.

 

“Stiles, you’re home!” Derek exclaimed as he threw open the balcony door and rushed inside. He closed it tightly behind himself and locked it, looking this way and that, before launching himself at his boyfriend.

 

“Yeah, I’m home, and you’re in so much shit,” Stiles muttered as he begrudgingly embraced Derek and kissed him on his fuzzy cheek. Then he tightened his hold, trapping the wolf there as he gave him a very stern look. “Now I’m going to ask you some questions and I hope that you’re going to answer them honestly.”

 

“Okay,” Derek agreed when he was rewarded with a sweet kiss on the lips.

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“That’s a stupid question,” Derek said with a roll of his eyes.

 

“I need to establish a baseline so I can tell if you’re lying or not.”

 

“Oh, so we’re going to play superhero Deputy Stiles versus poor innocent Bambi-wolf? Okay. Yes, I love you.”

 

No, they were so not playing any games today. Stiles needed to resolve this wolf/cat feud before the whole apartment went up in flames. “Who ripped off my trooper’s head?”

 

“Chalk.”

 

Derek had almost seemed eager to snitch on Chalk, but Stiles couldn’t fault him for it because he was telling the truth. “Who dumped C-3PO into the toilet bowl?”

 

“Which figure is that? The man or woman?”

 

“Neither. C-3PO is a protocol droid.” When it didn’t look like Derek knew what the heck a droid was, Stiles had to describe the figure in question, which annoyed him to no end. Because who didn’t know C-3PO? Derek had absolutely no excuse for not knowing who the character was, especially after Stiles had forced him to sit down and watch all 6 of the original Star Wars movies in a Star Wars weekend marathon last month. And no, it didn’t matter that Derek had fallen asleep on the sofa in his arms after the first twenty minutes of the first movie through to the end of the third. And again after the first fifteen minutes of the fourth movie, all the way to the end of the sixth. He should still know who the main characters were so that they could have long-winded discussions about them. “The gold character who looks like a masculine robot,” he clarified.

 

“Oh. Chalk did that, too.”

 

“And the carpeting in the bedroom…?”

 

“I plead the fifth.”

 

“You have the right to do that, but then I’ll know for sure it was you.”

 

“Okay, I revoke the fifth.”

 

“Derek, that isn’t even an expression,” Stiles sighed. “Did you do it?” When he still got no answer, Stiles suddenly panicked. “Are you trying to tell me that Chalk peed on the carpeting?!” That was just wonderful! Now he was going to have to call the landlord to have all the carpeting replaced because he refused to set foot into a room that had become a cat’s litter box.

 

“No, it’s water,” Derek said hurriedly.

 

“So you did it?”

 

Stiles refused to let Derek escape, squeezing him tighter when he tried to slip free with that flexible wolfish body of his. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take our entire supply of paper towels and use them to absorb all that water. After you’re done with that, I expect you to vacuum up what’s left of Chalk’s scratching post. Once you’re finished, we’ll talk.”

 

“What about the cat? Aren’t you going to punish him for drowning C-3PO?”

 

“You’re damn right I am.” There was no way that Stiles could punish one without the other. Normally he wouldn’t have wasted his time with telling a cat off, because animals usually responded best to consistent training or on-the-spot behavioral correction. But Chalk was really getting out of hand and, although Stiles didn’t want to admit it, that cat was causing strife in his loving relationship with Derek. Stiles didn’t want Derek feeling like second best, nor did he want the cat damaging things and provoking his lovable wolf into behaving like a two-year old.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles looked over to where Derek was lingering by the bedroom door, looking very reluctant to go inside. “Now what?”

 

“ _He’s_ still in there.”

 

“Who? Chalk? So…?” No way! Derek couldn’t actually be afraid of Chalk, could he? But that was really the only plausible explanation for why he had come home to find Derek out on the balcony, with the door shut, and hidden out of sight. Okay, so maybe Stiles should have seen this coming. That cat had been sitting on death row for the past two years, waiting to be put down because nobody wanted him. Which wasn’t entirely true. According to a staff member down at the animal shelter, quite a few people had been drawn to Chalk. Four or five families had taken pity on the fat cat and taken him home… only to promptly return him before the week was up. Stiles had just thought that they hadn’t been loving or caring enough, but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. Derek was usually so quiet and gentle, and he got along well with animals, so the instigator was most definitely Chalk. “What are you afraid he’s going to do to you?” Stiles asked, half in concern, and half out of curiosity.

 

“He has really mean eyes,” Derek said in a hushed voice as he continued to warily gaze in the direction of the bedroom. “And his claws are sharper than mine…”

 

“Oh, come here you big scaredy-wolf.” Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. Sure, the situation was really messed up, and that cat was still on the loose in the bedroom, but seeing Derek all tense and frightened over a cat that was much smaller than him was just too cute to bear. Swiftly moving over to the entranceway to the bedroom, Stiles pulled Derek into his arms once more and just snuggled the heck out of him. “Cute, fuzzy, scared-wolf. Is my poor wolf scared of the big bad cat?”

 

“I’m not scared of that _thing_ ,” Derek said indignantly. “I’m just being cautious.”

 

“Sure you are.” Stiles kissed Derek some more and sighed. How he loved his adorable Bambi-wolf. Whenever Derek was sad, Stiles felt like he could lose himself in those big dewy sea-green eyes. He often mused about drowning himself in them for days at a time. It was very rare for him to see Derek frightened, mainly because Beacon Hills hadn’t lured any new monsters into the town for a while. But when Derek did get scared, his eyes would get so big, and so vividly green, that Stiles felt tempted to paint them, just so he would never forget the way they looked. “I’ll protect you from the mean cat,” he promised, brushing his hand over Derek’s fuzzy cheek. He smiled when Derek leaned in closer and let his eyes flutter shut, beginning to make a contented sound of pleasure. And that reminded Stiles so much of a purring cat that he wondered why Chalk couldn’t get along with his sweet, sexy wolf. “Have you thought of giving him a peace offering?”

 

“You mean like a cardboard box out on the street?” Derek asked hopefully, still quite happily allowing Stiles to lightly scratch at his thick bearded cheek, purring louder when those fingers scritch scratched down to his chin.

 

“No. I mean give him something he wants. Maybe if you try to figure out what makes him tick, you can get him to like or – dare I say – respect you.”

 

“Fat chance of that happening,” Derek muttered. “The only thing he wants is food. And I fill his food dish every morning to make sure that he gets it. Does he say _thank you_ , or express his gratitude? No. He just hops onto the dining room table and eats my fried eggs and toast, before sticking his fat face into my tea cup and slurping up my carefully steeped jasmine tea.”

 

 _Ewww_. That was so gross! Stiles was so glad that he bought a bagel from a coffee shop down by the sheriff’s department every morning because he didn’t think that he could keep his food down after witnessing such an act. “Don’t leave your food unattended,” Stiles suggested gently.

 

“Nooo! You don’t get it. That cat is like a portable vacuum cleaner. It only takes thirty seconds for him to devour everything in sight. I put my breakfast down on the table, go back to the kitchen to turn off the exhaust hood and sweep up any crumbs that I may have dropped, and that’s it. As soon as I get back to the table, my food is gone and that monster cat has gained five pounds.” Before Stiles could make a comment about the order in which Derek did things, Derek let him know that one way or the other, Chalk always got his way. “I’ve tried eating in the kitchen, too, right out of the frying pan. But he jumps up at me and hisses and… Stiles, he’s _terrifying!”_

Poor Derek. If Chalk was attacking Stiles’ cute, fluffy wolf, then maybe he really did have to go. “Okay, why don’t you stay out here and vacuum up that mess you made. I’ll go into the bedroom to deal with your cat nemesis.” Stiles smiled at Derek to let him know that everything was okay, and then bravely entered the bedroom. Because he wasn’t afraid of no cat.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note to idiot self, cats have claws and are always prepared to use them._ Stiles dabbed at the bloody scratch marks, which were now decorating both of his forearms, with a Kleenex Ultra Soft 3-ply tissue and snatched up his pillow in irritation. “You do know that this means you’re not invited to stay for Thanksgiving?” He taunted as he shook the pillow out of the pillowcase, effortlessly creating a very effective cat trap. Thankfully he had had the foresight to close the bedroom door so that Chalk wouldn’t be able to escape. And also to prevent Derek from witnessing his knight in shining armor getting trounced by an overbearing mass of dusty blue fur.

 

Why was Chalk dusty? Because Stiles had chased the bastard behind the headboard, which was pressed in tightly to the wall, making it impossible to vacuum behind. So not only was Chalk lethally dangerous with those hooked claws of his, but he was now also a walking asthma trigger for anyone with dust allergies.

 

“Where the hell did you get to, you gargantuan feline?”

 

After Chalk had basically left his calling card down both Stiles’ arms, he had made himself scarce. There was a pile of laundry in one corner of the room, the blind was closed, the closet door open, and the comforter hanging over the edge of the bed. That cat could be _anywhere_. Just waiting to rip into Stiles’ face if he peered under the bed, or ready to go for his jugular if he leaned into the closet. _Shit!_ Hadn’t he watched a Youtube video where cats somehow managed to leap up to the ceiling and swing from ceiling fans, or cling to the tops of open doors? Could a cat of Chalk’s size pull that off?

 

Stiles whipped his head up, frantically scanning the top of the bookcase and the light fixture for any sign of a pissed off cat. Still, nothing.

 

Combing the bedroom square inch by square inch brought back fond memories of his firearm training class. However, whereas those classes had focused on him taking out the bad guy while protecting the hidden civilians, this time he had to be careful not to accidentally damage any of his valuable possessions while chasing after a ball of fur. If that cat went anywhere near his sacred action figures display, Stiles would see to it that he got deported.

 

“Here kitty. _Nice_ kitty,” Stiles called out patronizingly as he stalked around the bedroom with that empty pillowcase held tightly between his hands.

 

For some reason, being called _kitty_ seemed to have an immediate affect on Chalk because he came barreling out from behind the laundry hamper in a corner of the room with a furious look of defiance on his fur-covered face. Stiles had only an instant to react before the wild torpedo of fur launched itself at him in a hysterical fit of anger. But, as fast as the cat was, Stiles was still a fraction faster. Chalk would have had more luck with attempting to defeat him if he had lost a few pounds and practiced a bit of hunting, instead of lazing about all day like a sack of potatoes. It was Chalk’s own fault for getting pounced on, stuffed into that empty pillowcase, and hefted over the back of Stiles’ shoulder like an unwanted Christmas present from Santa.

 

“I’ve got him!” Stiles called out triumphantly to Derek as he made his way to the closed door. Maybe the local zoo had an empty cage that needed a new occupant. Chalk was far too dangerous to take to the pet store, and there was no way in hell that Stiles wanted to take responsibility for what would happen if he dropped the lethal feline off at the petting area of the kiddy park.

 

The bedroom door opened and Derek peered inside, looking visibly relieved to see the struggling lumpy captive locked inside that sealed pillowcase. “What are you going to do with him?”

 

“I have absolutely no fucking idea,” Stiles huffed, out of breath from the unanticipated workout. “You were right. This cat weighs a ton! He’s got to be at least ten pounds heavier than when I took him home last week. No, maybe fifteen!” Strangely enough, with every step Stiles took, his hissing, pouncing burden became heavier and heavier. By the time he was back in the living room and halfway to the front door, the cat had become such a dead weight that Stiles was struggling not to bend over backwards as the bag slipped further down his back. “Derek, a little help. I’m losing my grip.”

 

But the look on Derek’s face was one of sheer terror. Stiles watched his wolf back away from him, and then scan the room frantically for somewhere to hide. “Stiles, he’s getting bigger!”

 

“He can’t possibly get any bigger. But he will get loose unless you help me out. Come on, he can’t hurt you while he’s inside the pillowcase.”

 

“He’s no longer _in_ the pillowcase,” Derek fearfully pointed out, his sea-green eyes as large as UFO’s as he stared in horrified fascination at Stiles’ prisoner.

 

“What do you mean he’s no longer in the pillowcase?” Stiles struggled to swing the stuffed pillowcase down in front of him, and shrieked when he was faced with the mean-looking, puffed up face of a magnified Chalk. The cat had torn a large hole in the pillowcase that wasn’t nearly big enough to get his bloated head out of. “What the fuck?!” Too freaked out to think rationally, Stiles dropped the pillowcase and backed up to where Derek was cowering. He had to protect his wolf from the threatening menace of a cat, no matter how large he had become. Forget the fact that there was something supernatural involved, because normal animals don’t suddenly double in size, he would take on this psychotic beast in order to keep Derek safe.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m not gonna kill you, so you can stop quivering like a pair of little kids,” a very deep and raspy voice said from somewhere inside the room.

 

Both Stiles and Derek retreated further to the back of the room when Chalk began to transform. He very slowly shed his furry cat exterior in favor of a pair of beefy, hairy arms, skinny – yet equally hairy – legs, and a fairly round beer belly. Within a matter of seconds, Stiles and Derek were faced with a bearded, unkempt man in his late 50’s.

 

“Eww,” was Stiles’ automatic reaction, because he had hugged and kissed this cat/aging man on the head and petted his furry behind. “Eww,” he repeated when Derek just stood there, catatonically studying the naked man that was now standing in their living room.

 

“What’s the matter, Derek? Haven’t you seen a were-cat before?” Chalk grumbled, sitting his naked ass down on the sofa and reaching for the TV remote. “Now that you know what I am, you can stop feeding me that shitty cat chow and start giving me some _real_ food. Maybe one of you can buy me a case of beer, too, because I’m sick of tea. I don’t like scones either.”

 

“Uh…” Stiles stood there with his mouth open, not quite knowing how to react or what to say. He still didn’t react when the TV clicked on to the sports channel, filling the room with the blaring loud noise of a rowdy crowd cheering for their favorite soccer team.

 

“Stiles, I don’t care if he’s a vicious, obese cat, or a crabby old man. He still has to go,” Derek hissed under his breath.

 

“I can hear you,” Chalk muttered. “I’d expect more from you, Derek. You’re a werewolf and I’m a were-cat. We’re like cousins or something. That means that you’re obligated to take care of me in my time of need. And right now I need a cigarette.”

 

“No way,” Stiles said angrily. “This is a non-smoking home. Listen up, you fake old cat-man, you’re going to get your hairy naked ass up off our sofa, wrap your exposed parts up in one of our ugliest towels, and get the hell out of here.”

 

“Oh, so you had no problem letting me stay here while I was acting like your idiot pet, but now that I look a little different, you want to throw me out onto the streets.” Chalk made a disgusted sound with the back of his throat and glared at Stiles. “That’s just typical. That’s even worse than what all those other people did to me. At least they took me back to the animal shelter where someone would bother to feed me.”

 

 _A little different?!_ There was a huge difference between a cute, furry cat and an unshaven, rude old man.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Derek gave Chalk an incredulous look and stalked menacingly closer to him. “You transformed in front of people?! Are you insane? We have codes of conduct that must be adhered to. Do you realize the danger you put all were-people in by pulling a stunt like that?”

 

“Relax, wolf-boy. Nobody is gonna call up the cops to report a cat turning into a handsome prince. Not unless they want to get laughed at and checked for drugs.”

 

 _Handsome prince?_ Was this old guy delusional as well as rude, lazy, and exceptionally unhealthy looking? “You don’t honestly think that we’re going to let you stay here with us now that we know what you are,” Stiles said in disbelief. “ _This,_ ” he pulled Derek into his arms and held him tightly, “is my boyfriend. We both work hard to pay the bills around here and don’t need some scam artist freeloading off of us or interfering with our relationship.”

 

“I know what you are,” Chalk scoffed, brushing off Stiles’ concerns with an abrupt wave of his hand. “I got to see the whole show when you assholes started going at it without bothering to check under the bed first. You wanna talk about traumatizing someone? Why don’t you consider how I felt about your _deputy rescues and mates with the poor, lost Bambi-wolf_ roleplay game before you go judging me.”

 

“ _Stiles!”_ Derek growled in warning.

 

“That’s it. I’m getting my gun.” Stiles stormed over to the front door, retrieved his firearm from where he’d put it down when he’d come in, and turned to face a pleading Chalk. The scraggly man was now in his face, having rushed over to try and cut him off, but too out of shape to prevent Stiles from getting his hands on his pistol. “Out! Now,” Stiles ordered, pointing the gun at Chalk’s bulging belly. He didn’t want to use the gun on Chalk, but he was not against threatening him with it if it would get his sorry ass out of their apartment. The trauma of having seen a perfectly cute cat turn into a naked old man would forever be etched in Stiles’ brain.

 

“Look, I get it. You don’t want to cuddle me now that I look like this,” Chalk said desperately, trying to reason with Stiles.

 

“You’re damn right I don’t,” Stiles agreed.

 

“For the record, I never wanted to cuddle with you,” Derek piped up, flicking his claws in and out in a very unnerving manner. Perhaps cats and wolves really weren’t meant to get along.

 

“Well, I don’t want to cuddle with you either,” Chalk stated. “I just find that it’s easier to get a warm place to sleep and something decent to eat when I stay in cat form. Of course, neither of you would understand how hard it is for a man of my age to get by in the world we live in today. I can’t use a computer and I don’t own a cell phone. Hell, I was living out of my car up until two years ago. But I thought to myself, why should I keep paying taxes and bother trying at all when I can just find some suckers – I mean _a nice family_ – to take me in and give me everything I need?”

 

“Okay, enough with the sob story.” Stiles kept the gun trained on Chalk, but pulled out his wallet from his back pocket. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering because giving you money is not going to solve the problem. What you really need to do is get your lazy ass to a staffing agency to have them hook you up with a job you’re capable of doing. But before that, you might want to take a shower, put on some clothes, and shave that nasty looking beard.” Stiles thrust eighty dollars at Chalk and pointed towards the door. “Now get out!”

 

“I like my beard,” Chalk protested, but snatched up the eighty dollars before Stiles could have second thoughts. “Eighty bucks is enough to get me a case of beer, a pack of smokes, and a shitload of beef jerky,” he said cheerfully as he pulled the throw blanket off of the sofa, wrapped it around his waist, and made his way over to the door – barefoot. “See you horny bastards around sometime. Maybe on a full moon,” he added with a wink to Derek, before he left their apartment, whistling all the way down to the elevator.

 

“What the hell was that?” Stiles asked in bewilderment, making sure that he locked the door securely before returning to Derek.

 

“Stiles, please don’t point your gun at me,” Derek complained, moving out of range just in case the safety was off.

 

“Oh, sorry. Don’t worry, the safety is on. I wasn’t really going to shoot that old cat – I mean, _man_ – inside our home.” Stiles put the gun down on the coffee table and opened his arms wide to hug his wolf. “I’m so _so_ sorry for bringing a weird old man into our home. I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as were-cats.”

 

“You didn’t do it on purpose,” Derek sighed, allowing Stiles to apologize to him with plenty of kisses. “I couldn’t even pick up his scent because he obviously spends most of his time in cat form. If he isn’t careful, he may actually get stuck in that fat cat form one day.”

 

“Eww,” Stiles shuddered. “He would be like an unexpected voyeur in some innocent family’s lives.” Rubbing his hands up and down Derek’s arms to relieve the creepy feeling that they both felt, Stiles gestured towards the bedroom. “I feel like vacuuming up cat hairs.”

 

“Me too.” Derek grinned at Stiles in amusement, probably relieved to be rid of their unwanted house guest. “The next time you want to get me a present, I’d prefer food or clothing. But no beer or cigarettes.”

 

“How about I just wrap you up and make you my present?” Stiles suggested. He kissed Derek again and led him to the bedroom. “The faster we remove all evidence of Chalk’s presence, the faster we can roleplay together.” Stiles laughed when Derek rushed back out into the hall to get the vacuum cleaner and the lint removal brush. Why would Stiles ever need to get a pet when he had a sexy, purring wolf to keep himself occupied with?


End file.
